


Please Don't Leave Me

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Pining Sherlock, Realizations, a game of shadows - Freeform, jude law john watson, ritchie!verse - Freeform, robert downey jr sherlock, sherlock holmes downey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 03:34:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4332285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes would never consider himself to be a sentimental man. He hardly kept in touch with his own brother, Mycroft Holmes. But John Watson was another matter entirely. </p><p>When he announced one day that he'd met someone, Holmes hadn't taken it seriously until Watson had proposed, bringing old feelings bubbling to the surface. Feelings he'd denied the existence of for years as he watched Watson flit from one date to another. Though they'd never lasted, he suspected this day would come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mary

**Author's Note:**

> Based on RDJ's Sherlock & Jude Law's John Watson

The year was 1875 in London where two men shared a flat at 221B Baker Street.

_What do you mean you've met someone?_ Holmes paused in the middle of an experiment. An important one, no less. He'd been testing the effects of bleach on frog legs and had nearly knocked the unfortunate specimen over, at Watson's announcement.

He stared back at Watson, taking in his gray suit, black bowler hat and the cane he went no one without. Surely he couldn't be serious. What did she have that he couldn't offer? Together they shared a modest flat, a bull pup named Gladstone (that could survive anything, as it seemed), a lively (for the most part) housekeeper and once in awhile, one anothers clothing.

 _Her name is Mary, Mary Morstan and I'd like for you to meet her._ He stated as he absently tapped his cane against the worn wood floor.

 _I'm afraid I'm preoccupied at the moment, Watson. You'll have to fare without me._ He commended himself on excuses, he was rather good at letting others down gently. He dropped a severed frog leg into a beaker of bleach and stirred.

 _Holmes. You've no cases and you're currently experimenting with how to pickle frog legs. You can spare an hour,_ he replied, bitterly.

 _My dear Watson, you underestimate the importance of my current experiment. See I need to know at what temperature and how long does bleach-_ he was cut off by an angry huff.

 _Holmes. For me._ He could never tell John Watson no, he'd tried. He would face death itself if he'd asked him to. Resigned, he blew out a sigh and stood up to face Watson.

 _Just this once._ he stated and Watson smiled. It was worth it, he noted, to see that smile.

 _And wash up, will you?_ Watson smirked.

 

**Dinner, the following night.**

_John tells me you can read people just by looking at them, what do you see when you look at me?_ Mary tilted her head at Holmes and dared him to step out of line.

She wasn't unattractive, standing at nearly 5'4 with blonde hair upswept and covered with a bright bonnet tied under her neck, to match her dress.

 _You were once married going by the indent mark around your ring finger _though not a particularly happy one seeing as it didn't last a year and_ you're currently a governess with a small pension. The jewels around your neck were loaned to you from your boss as you couldn't possibly afford them on your own. Did I miss anything? _he finished, smugly.

 _He died, you bastard,_ and with that she tossed the wine in his face and stormed off.

 _Thanks for that, real nice Holmes. I should've known better than to introduce you,_ Watson growled as he threw down his napkin and followed after her.

Holmes admitted that mayhap he'd gone too far but Watson deserved to know what he was getting into and he didn't appreciate the smug way she'd said _I intend to_ when he'd said _Take Watson here_ as he began to deduce him.

None the less he tucked his napkin into his shirt and dined alone.

 

 


	2. Losing Sometimes Feels Like Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watson is getting married and Holmes can't put a name to the feeling, why he's so adamantly against it.

**Three weeks later.**

Holmes hadn't slept, as usual, and lounged around in his tattered housecoat as he played a rather sad piece on his violin before moving to test his newest creation on Gladstone who eagerly slopped over to meet him as he crouched on the floor. Within minutes the dog was laying on his side, shallowly breathing. So the drug didn't kill then, simply paralyzed. Noted.

Watson made his way into the room, moving past stacks of dusty books on chemistry, crime, law and botany, past piles of faded papers and various trinkets collected over the years.

Holmes, he observed, looked terrible. He wore a shabby flowing white shirt tucked into black pants that were stained with different pigments, covered by a housecoat that would do better to be tossed into the fire. His hair was wild and stubble at least a week old covered his cheeks.

 _Watson! So you've come to visit me_ , he strolled up to him and patted him on the back absently.

It wasn't as if they hadn't saw one another, Watson still lived in the room next door but they'd avoided crossing paths more than necessary since the dinner incident. It appeared that Watson had finally came to his senses.

 _Holmes, you look awful,_ he said and sat down in his favorite chair. It was well worn and the stuffing was coming out in places but it was _his._

 _And hello to you too. Such a lovely greeting, Watson. Don't you think so, Gladstone?_ he turned to the dog as if he'd answer him but he didn't move, simply drooled onto the rug.

 _What the devil did you do to my dog?!_ Watson ran over to ensure that the dog was still breathing before turning to Holmes _._

 _Mere paralytic I've been testing, he'll be fine in about 2 days_ , he replied non nonchalantly as he stepped to the window with his violin in hand.

_Holmes, you've got to stop doing that._

Watson wasn't happy with him, that happened more and more lately. Since the addition of Mary, he thought bitterly. He couldn't quite place why he didn't care for the woman but the fact remained. 

 _Watson have you came here merely to chastise me or did you want to discuss something?_ He'd deduced that Watson seemed more fidgety than usual, less testy.

 _I've asked Mary Morstan to marry me,_ Watson said with downcast eyes as he fiddled with his cane.

Suddenly the room felt like it might tilt and shift at Watson's words. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He sat down his violin and sat in his own chair, opposite Watson.

They did not speak, Watson did not elaborate but the room was shrouded in unspoken words and the heavy blanket of grief. Grief at their lives taking on a different angle, at losing one another, of words they'd always meant to say but never had.

Mrs. Hudson made her way into the room with a covered tray, scoffing as she did.

 _I don't know why you insist upon my bringing these vial creatures to you,_ she shook her head as she found a clean surface to sit the tray on. It was the tray of pigs eyes he'd requested what seemed like hours ago yet now seemed pointless.

She shrieked as she nearly tripped over Gladstone who hadn't moved from his spot.

 _Sherlock Holmes, stop torturing this poor defenseless animal, why I ought to-_ her rant was cut off mid stream.

 _That'll be enough, Nanny. Now off with you,_ Holmes gestured to the door with his violin bow as she shook her head at him.

 _My dust, nanny! Have you been bothering my dust?_ he called as she walked away.

 _Dust and dirt and grime, it's a wonder you can even breathe in there!,_ she ranted to herself as she closed the door.

The air grew silent again and he could take it no more. Holmes moved to his usual spot at the window and began to play a melancholy piece about losing someone you care deeply about. He put into the music what he couldn't put into words.

 _Point taken,_ Watson said as he marched out of the room.

 


	3. Never Mine to Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His room was empty save for the full size bed, dresser and a few lingering books about the human body and the advance of medical science.

**Four months later.**

Holmes figured it must be nearing two o' clock in the morning but he couldn't sleep. This wasn't unusual but the past few nights had been different. 

More and more he found himself shuffling over to the room next door where Watson should've been. He'd allow himself an hour to simply lie on the bed and _inhale._ Cedar, earl gray tea with a hint of citrus, _Watson._ He traced his fingers over the lone pillow that remained. Watson had opted to leave it behind saying he'd bought a new one, one that wasn't as flat. Holmes couldn't shake the feeling that he was replacing everything in his life with new things, new people.

He needed to stop this wretched thinking, his mind was whirling and racing, spiraling into a million directions at once.

He made his way to the sitting room and sat, with a sigh, in his favorite chair and lit his pipe. The entire room was pitch black so only his smoke rings were visible. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a good shave and had left the flat. He hadn't taken on new cases in at least three to four months. Watson would drop in from time to time and lecture him on eating and allowing sunlight in.

**The next day.**

_Murder of one Miss Dallwood, killer still at large. City has advised against leaving doors unlocked and windows unbolted,_ Watson read aloud as he sat across from Holmes who was only half listening as he stirred a clear liquid in a vial. Watson had hoped to cheer him up and possibly come along on a much needed case. 

_It was the neighbor, spat over land and where one line ended and the other began. She waited until dark when she knew Miss Dallwood would be sleeping and seeing as she lives alone, it would not have been difficult especially given that Miss Dallwood is prone to leaving her door unlocked. She entered through the back door, clung to the side of the walls to avoid creaking floors and, making her way to the victims bedroom, stabbed her ten times in the back,_ Holmes prattled off.

Anyone with a brain could've figured it out, he thought to himself and hoped that Scotland Yard had finally came to the same conclusion.

Watson smiled to himself and lowered the paper. After five years in one anothers company, Holmes never failed to impress him with his skill.

Clearing his throat, he decided it was now or never.

 _The wedding is two weeks from today, I was hoping you would be my best man. I realize it's rushed timing but I've been busy with the practice and helping with the planning,_ he stole a glance at Holmes who was pouring brandy into a tumbler and a clear liquid into the other tumbler.

 _Watson's getting married,_ he said, mostly to himself as he sat the glasses down. _Embrace me!,_ he moved forward and wrapped his arms around Watson. He lingered a minute or two longer than necessary as he leaned into the embrace and slightly rested his read on Watson's shoulder. _Cedar, earl gray tea, citrus._ He'd missed this.

Watson made no move to pull back or put space between them, if anything he'd stepped closer and held him tighter as if he might float away at any given moment. Their time together was precious these days and too few. He couldn't remember the last time he'd touched him. During cases there was the usual crouching in front of the other to peek around a corner, an arm reaching out to grab the other to save him from imminent danger, the close seating in the cab...but lately. Lately he'd been missing all of that. His time had been taken up by fifteen possible types of floral arrangements, menu decisions (chicken or beef? lamb or goose?), three types of polished shoes and it all felt suffocating.

 _I hope you haven't forgotten already,_ Watson replied as he put space between them and pulled a small smile.

 _Of course not, how could I possibly forget that my best partner is getting married?_ Holmes questioned as he gave one glass (brandy) to Watson and took the other for himself. He forced a smile.

 _To Watson's marriage!_ he proclaimed and lifted his glass before downing it in one gulp.

 _Holmes, you're drinking embalming fluid,_ he said after sipping his own brandy, taking his time.

 _Care for a drop?,_ Holmes sat the glass down and though the words nearly caught in his throat he had to know, not allowing Watson to answer.

 _Are you happy? With her? Like...you were with me?_ he turned to face Watson and there was a sadness in those brown eyes, as if he'd lost something precious.

 _I am happy, yes. She doesn't leave specimens on open spaces or allow dust to gather for months untouched, she keeps our dinner dates and I know where I stand with her, what I mean to her,_ the words rushed out in a huff before he could call them back. The last part being particularly damning and if he were to admit to himself, he missed all of that. He had yet to marry and already life seemed to lack a certain spark.

 _I am glad that she makes you happy, Watson,_ Holmes said and poured himself some brandy. Brandy this time rather than embalming fluid.

 _I'm ecstatic-_ he began

 _Verging on psychotic,_ Watson finished

He paused and added _I should've brought you a sedative._ _Oh how I've missed you, Holmes.  
_

 _Have you? Why, I've barely noticed your absence. Then again I'm knee-deep in research. Extracting fluids from the adrenal glands of sheep and designing my own urban camouflage,_ he rattled off and hoped he came off as more confident than he felt. The last thing he wanted was pity. 

Watson merely smiled and shook his head slightly. Surely he'd been missed at least a small amount, he thought to himself. Looking around the sitting room he took in the familiar surroundings. Nothing had changed, that he could see of. Stacks of books in every corner, a table covered in bottles vials and flasks, a discarded bunsen burner to the side, small Greek statues on the fireplace, his chair still sitting across from Holmes. Nothing had changed at all in this room. He found it comforting.

 _As my best man, your duty is to keep the rings and I believe there's a time honored tradition of a stag night. This day is very important to me, Holmes. I need you to be there,_ Watson uttered and hoped Holmes would take the bait. He needed to get him out of this room and besides that, he missed him.

 _Yes, of course,_ he turned and gave his most charming smile. Anything for Watson.

 

 


	4. One for the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson was to be married soon so naturally a stag night was in order. What happens when you mix alcohol with unspoken feelings?

**Two nights later.**

Watson gave the vehicle a slight kick and mumbled _Not bad, that_. It spat and sputtered as they made their way to their destination. It was a wonder it still worked at all. Somehow it fit Holmes, he could never see him in a sleek vehicle that weaved stealthily through London roads. 

Arriving at a loud bustling off white cobblestone building filled to the brim with tipsy men, they made their way to the front door.

Watson smiled to himself, maybe this would be a good night after all.

 _Ah, brother mine!_ came a booming voice from behind them. Watson turned to see a much taller and slightly heavier Holmes brother behind him. He wore a tophat and midnight black cape over his evening wear. He seemed terribly over dressed for such a place. At his side was a shorter man with a brown curling mustache and brown hair combed to the side. He too wore his best evening wear sans the top hat.

 _Loitering in the woodshed are we Myckie?_ Holmes chided.

 _Good evening, Sherly!_ Mycroft Holmes replied, turning to greet them _._

 _I see your boot maker is ill, dear brother,_ Mycroft said, lazily.

 _As I detect that you have recently changed the brand of soap with which you shave,_ Holmes was ready with a comeback.

 _Ah, well. May I deduce that you who rarely strays from the path that runs from your home to the Diogenes Club and never on a Monday when they serve your favourite potted shrimps must be here for some far more important reason than my stag party?_   Watson interrupted and smiled at his own brilliance.

 _You know he’s nothing like as slow-witted as you’ve been leading me to believe, Sherly._ And with that, Mycroft weaved their way into the crowded room, to a small table as he and his companion all but abandoned them.

So Holmes had been speaking to his brother (who Watson hadn't had the pleasure of meeting in person until tonight) about him. Obviously he'd informed him that he was quite slow when it came to picking up on details but he supposed their friendship and his medical knowledge was why Holmes chose to keep him around.

A waitress with auburn hair pulled into a tight bun, with a bonnet atop her head, made her way over to their table. She was short and her dress fell off shoulders to reveal pale skin and dipped low in the front for all to see.

 _What can I get you boys?_ she inquired, looking from one to the other.

 _A few more chairs would be nice,_ Watson replied.

 _Two scotch please and we won't be needing those chairs, thank you._ Holmes grinned back at Watson and raised his eyebrows for a moment before looking away. Watson was his friend, they were certainly closer than the medical colleagues and military buddies Watson called friends.

 _Holmes, you devil. You told me...this was supposed to be my stag night,_ Watson's eyes lit up with irritation as he sat back in his chair and regarded Holmes.

 _Yes well, they had prior engagements,_ Holmes stated and took his drink as the waitress sat them down. He gave her his best smile and a wink.

 

The night wore on until the wee hours and the crowd thinned a bit. They'd played cards and drank more than one man should and Watson had allowed his gambling habit to bubble to the surface for just this one night. He'd ended up losing quite the chunk of money to Holmes who found it amusing.

 _Lets get out of here,_ Watson slurred and leaned forward on the wobbling table, to face Holmes.

 _Lets!,_ came the enthusiastic reply as Holmes drained his last drink and they made their way into the cool night air.

Drunk as they were, they chose to go on foot rather than mow down an innocent pedestrian. The streets were virtually empty seeing as most people were warm in their beds at such an hour. They staggered against one another and laughed about the more wild cases they'd taken on.

Cases that had seen them dressing in disguise until they were unrecognizable and staking out abandoned buildings. The very visual of Holmes in a bushy fake mustache and paisley print flowing shirt with an awful French accent was enough to send them into hysterics. 

_Look, Watson. The stars are out,_ Holmes tugged on Watson's arm and pointed up at the sky.

Watson looked to where he was pointing but found his eyes falling to Holmes' face instead. Had he always been this charming?, he wondered to himself. Even with his disheveled suit and hair that had seen better days, he was quite handsome. He had a firm jawline that was peppered with five o' clock shadow and full lips that he tended to bite when he was deep in thought.

For a moment, Watson allowed his mind to wander. What would it be like to brush his fingers against the rough edges, to stare into those dark eyes and drive him mad with want? It must be the alcohol, he told himself.

They lapsed into silence and at last arrived at 221B Baker Street, where they stumbled up the stairs to their rooms. They were not as quiet as they'd hoped.

 _Sherlock Holmes if you've gone on another drunken bender,_ she tutted as she threw open the door to her own room and watched them attempt to climb the stairs.

 _Oh you've got him, Doctor Watson. I can sleep better then,_ she smiled and made her way back inside. Late as it were, he was in good hands.

 _What do we do now?_ questioned Watson as he flicked the light on and sat in his chair. Holmes took his own chair across from him and regarded him with glazed eyes.

 _A rousing game of course, one that Mycroft and I played as children,_ he stood and ripped two pieces of paper from a faded book and, handing one to Watson and keeping one for himself he explained that they were to each write a name on the paper and place it on their foreheads.

Watson had chosen Holmes' name, of course, because it seemed a good idea at the time.

Holmes had chosen a famous celebrity, known for her singing abilities and eccentric behavior. He'd always been a fan.

 _So I'm...not human, as tall as people think I am, important to some people but I rub others the wrong way,_ Holmes laughed and leaned forward in his seat. 

_I've got it! I'm **you**!", _ he was quite proud of himself.

Watson laughed and shook his head from side to side. Funny that Holmes should find Watson in his own characteristics.

 _My turn,_ he sat forward and squinted.

 _Am I....am I a pretty lady?_ Watson asked, laughing. Holmes nearly spilled his drink as he snickered.

Watson propped his chin on one hand and again asked, seriously this time, _This..._ he pointed to his forehead. _Am I...am I pretty?_

Holmes leaned forward, squinting and moved closer to attempt to read the paper stuck to Watson's forehead.

He felt downright dangerous, being this close to Watson's face. Sure they'd been closer during cases and more than once Watson had covered Holmes' body with his own in order to shield him but the alcohol had him feeling more fluid, as if anything were possible.

 _I don't know who you're supposed to be,_ he ventured and reached out a hand to touch Watson's cheek. He wasn't sure why he'd done it, hadn't questioned it as he allowed his hand to linger. Watson's eyes fluttered closed as he leaned into the touch.

Holmes allowed his thumb to lightly brush Watson's face and leaned forward to lightly brush his lips against Watson's cheek. He felt like he was burning inside, he wanted. He needed. Had for years but the opportunity had never arisen.

Watson sighed softly and turned his head so that he caught Holmes' lips with his own.

It was gentle and over too quickly as they drew back to meet one anothers eyes

 _I apologize, my dear Watson. It appears I've had too much to drink,_ Holmes sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. He removed the piece of paper from his forehead and cleared his throat.

 _I should...I should be getting to bed,_ Watson was in no state of mind to be making his way home to his own flat.

Holmes nodded along silently as Watson left the room without another word.

 

Something had happened tonight. Two continents shifting into place, two stars colliding after years of orbiting one another.


	5. Please Don't Leave Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding is next week but John Watson can't stop replaying stag night, in his head.  
> Holmes had kissed him and he hadn't pulled away. If anything he found himself wanting more and the thought frightened him. 
> 
> He felt like a fraud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm throwing Victorian honor to the ground, sorry. Yes Mary and Watson live together but sleep in separate beds.

The next few days passed without either of them bringing up the incident. Watson dropped by on occasion to visit and check in on him but nothing of importance, aside from wedding details and best man duties was mentioned.

 _Holmes!,_ Watson bolted upright in his bed, relieved that he'd only been dreaming. In his dream he saw Holmes limp body hanging, an anchor pierced through his shoulder as Professor James Moriarty tortured him. He was near death when Watson had managed to rescue him and then once more after he'd appeared to tumble headfirst over Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland. After defeating his adversary he'd sauntered back into Watson's life, living and breathing once more.

After much anger and silent treatment, Watson had welcomed him back to 221B Baker Street. He himself had never left but each day had been nearly unbearable so that he stayed gone until nightfall, much to Mrs. Hudson's worry and disappointment.

His nightmares had plagued him nearly every night since he'd packed up and left their flat, to move in with Mary.

 _John? John are you alright?_ she whispered and sat up in her bed. Blonde hair had slipped out of her nightcap, to rest on her shoulders. Sleepy blue eyes regarded him with worry. She'd grown used to the nightmares by now but still they concerned her. In those moments she felt utterly helpless.

 _I'm quite alright, go back to sleep,_ he answered and made his way to the bathroom.

He washed his face with cold water and ran his fingers through tangled brown hair. _Holmes._ Bless him, the man was haunting him.

In the daylight hours his mind drifted back to stag night, a few days ago. It felt like ages.

He recalled in vivid detail, the feel of Holmes' lips on his own. Soft yet slightly rough around the edges, much like the madman himself.

With a resigned sigh, he went back to bed and attempted to think of something else, anything else.

 

**The following day.**

_Holmes, are you home?_ Watson called as he scanned the sitting room but failed to see Holmes.

He heard a slight rustling to his left and Holmes sprang out from behind a curtain. He'd apparently been using his spare time to create more clothing that would allow him to seamlessly blend and therefore spy, on criminals.

 

 

 _My dear Watson!_ Holmes bellowed as he embraced him but let go all too soon. Forgetting momentarily that the air was heavy between them.

 _I have been perfecting camouflage clothing and as of yet I tested it only yesterday and managed to sneak upon a robbery in progress. Snagged two criminals for Scotland Yard seeing as they're incompetent and require my assistance,_ he carried on.

 _And that's working out well for you then?_ Watson questioned, trying to make conversation.

 _It is,_ Holmes answered as he took his seat across from Watson and crossed his legs. He lit up his pipe and smiled.

 _Holmes, we need to talk,_ Watson stated.

Holmes face fell slightly as he regarded Watson. _About what?_ and he had the decency to act as if he'd no idea why Watson wanted to talk.

 _You know what._ Watson replied, sternly.

 _Yes that, very well. It was a moment of drunken intimacy. Nothing more,_ Holmes replied as he puffed on his pipe once more. For all the world, he could've been making conversation about the frequent rain storms in London or the local headlines in the paper.

 _No. No, don't do that, Holmes. Don't lie to me, you know I can tell when you're lying,_ Watson spat out, eyes focused on Holmes.

 

 

Holmes sat his pipe down and furrowed his hands at his lap. Awkward silence filled the room as he struggled to find the words.

 _You're right,_ he admitted and looked past Watson to stare at the faded wallpaper instead.

 _What do you mean I'm right? Is that all you've got to say for yourself?_ Watson wanted more of an explanation, anything.

 _I apologize my dear Watson, I got carried away,_ Holmes replied, with words he didn't quite mean. He hadn't regretted a thing and why should he?

 

 

Feeling brave, Watson made his way over to Holmes' chair and tugged his chin up so that he could look him in the eye.

Lying, of course.

He felt the blood rush to his face, felt his eyes widen as his hand lingered.

Taking a risk, he dipped his head and pressed his lips to Holmes, who moaned under his breath. That was all the encouragement he needed.

He slipped his tongue inside Holmes' mouth and felt like his heart was going to explode.

Holmes didn't resist, gently moved to deepen the kiss, running his tongue along Watson's as Watson tangled his hands in Holmes' hair. _Closer but not close enough._

 _Watson...I..._ Holmes began, intending to stop this in its tracks as he couldn't bare to taste something he craved only to have it pulled away at the last minute by a blonde haired woman who promised stability, a nice home and maybe someday, children. 

 _Holmes, no talking._ chided Watson as he kissed every inch of Holmes' face and neck, each side of his lips, the curve of his jaw.

Forcing himself to pull back and put space between them, Holmes tried to steady his breathing. He felt as if his insides were on fire and he ached with longing. He'd wanted this for too long, dreamed of it but not like this.

 _Watson. You're to be married,_ he stated, the words tasting acrid in his throat.

Watson cleared his throat and sat down in his chair, still breathing heavily.

 

 

 _I do not wish to be married,_ he said and tilted his head to the side as he regarded Holmes.

 _I don't understand, your wedding is one week away. I'm to be the best man, I haven't managed to blow up or lose the rings yet,_ Holmes stammered. He didn't want to be the reason that Watson someday regretted his decision.

 _And you've done a fine job of that but it doesn't matter. Listen to me. I do care about her but not...not as a husband should,_ Watson replied.

 _...not...not like you,_ he finished and took a deep breath.

 

It wasn't a recent realization, he'd felt something more than friendship for Holmes for years. He simply assumed Holmes had no interest in him or anyone else for that matter.

 _You mean to say then...? Me?_ Holmes stood and poured himself a drink. Surely he'd wake up and this would all be another dream.

Watson crossed the room and put Holmes' drink on a side table. He pressed himself up against him fully and lightly kissed him on the lips.

 

At that moment, Mrs. Hudson came in to bring Holmes his lunch. Gasping at what she saw, she nearly dropped the tray as she sat it down. Never one to interrupt unless she absolutely had to, she quietly went back the way she came and closed the door.

 _I'm afraid we've given nanny a fright,_ laughed Holmes.

Neither man moved to make excuses or apologies.

Holmes studied Watson's face for a moment, searching for traces of a lie or sinister plan of some sort but found none.

His gaze dropped to Watson's lips before darting up to meet his eyes. To hell with waiting, he decided and wrapped his arms around Watson's waist.

 _Mine,_ he thought to himself as he laughed against Watson's lips.

 

 _Watson,_ he whispered, _Please...just don't, don't leave me._

 

 _Never again,_ muttered Watson as he brushed his thumb against the stubble on Holmes' cheek. This was _home._ _He_ was home. 

 

 


	6. It's Always Going to Come Right Back to This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary didn't take the news well, after all she had to contact the local church and tell them they wouldn't be needing it reserved after all. She'd mailed letters of the news to relatives and friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrapping it up now, fluff!

Three weeks had passed since Watson had explained to Mary that he did care for her but felt she deserved someone who could picture themselves growing old with her. She hadn't taken it well. They'd argued but in the end, Watson had moved back to Baker Street and she had sent out letters informing relatives and friends that the wedding had been called off. She offered no other explanation and hoped they'd understand.

 _Watson!_ Holmes yelled as his eyes searched the dark alley for Watson.

It was their first case together in too long. They'd been mercilessly dashing about the darkened streets of London in an attempt to catch a serial murderer. He was taller than the both of them at 6'9 and was notorious for going after spinsters, alone in their houses. He was up to five victims by the time Scotland Yard had contacted Holmes.

 _Watson! Can you hear me?_ he called into the darkness. Just moments ago he'd heard the sound of a gunshot, its blast echoing off of cobbled walls.

He made a mad dash around the next corner with gun aimed, fully prepared to take down the criminal.

 _Holmes! It's me, it's just me,_ Watson exclaimed as he cuffed the other man and all but sat on him to keep him from escaping.

 _You're late,_ Holmes replied with a laugh.

 _We're not supposed to giggle at a crime scene,_ Watson came back with as he joined in.

The man beneath him simply grunted.

 

Hours later, back at Baker Street (after taking the man straight to Scotland Yard of course) they stretched their legs out in front of the warm fire.

 _I brought you boys some hot tea,_ Mrs. Hudson bustled into the room and sat a tray of tea, cream and sugar on the table beside of them. She hadn't spoken of the called off wedding or what she'd witnessed, there was nothing left to say. She simply smiled at them fondly before closing the door behind her as she left. 

 

 _I dare say we've rendered nanny speechless,_ Holmes laughed.

 _Shall we do it more often then?_ Watson quipped as he pulled Holmes toward the bedroom.

 

 

 _This._ It was always going to come right back to this.

 

**Here, though the world explode, these two survive,**

**And it is always eighteen ninety-five.**


End file.
